


whatever will be

by sweetchems



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alpha Gerard Way, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Asshole Frank Iero, But also not, Flirting, Gerard Way is a Sweetheart, Ill tag that bridge when i come to it, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Frank Iero, Organized Crime, Probably things will be semi violent because crime au, Sexual Tension, Sort Of, probably the mafia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:26:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23421655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetchems/pseuds/sweetchems
Summary: Frank Iero is hardened.Frank Iero is cold-hearted.Frank Iero doesn't spare anyone. That gets you nowhere.And yet, when a man is thrown at his feet swimming in debts and begging to be spared...He softens.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Comments: 30
Kudos: 97





	1. the owner of the bored dress shoes

**Author's Note:**

> look at me writing nothing i've promised on my tumblr and doing what i want for the nth time
> 
> this is like... nontraditional omegaverse mafia au where gerard is a sweetheart and frank is kind of scary but they'll be a good match i promise and gerard has more agency than he gives off in the first chapter

Expensive leather dress shoes go _tap, tap, tap_ against a cold, hardwood floor.

It's that sort of bored tapping, the sort that means the shoes' owner is sitting in their chair, tapping their feet against the floor like a disinterested elementary schooler who really doesn't give a damn what their overly perky teacher has to say about basic math.

The owner of the bored dress shoes sits in a study, not a classroom. The study is large and open, with a bulky vintage mahogany desk like something out of a movie as the focal point. Behind the desk and it's accompanying black leather chair, tall windows with red curtains drawn over them take up most of the wall. The walls on either side of the desk are lined with shelves, stuffed to their full capacity with books and files and boxes of documents. The dead center of the room houses two large, comfortable red chairs with a small mahogany table sandwiched between them facing one wall, a coffee table that matches the desk in material and theatricality, and one couch on the other side of that table, set to face the chairs and matching them in material. The owner of the bored dress shoes is fiddling with the stiff sleeve of his button-down shirt.

The owner of the bored dress shoes is Frank Anthony Iero.

Twenty-seven years old, the leading man of a local… _group_ , to put it in a way that won't make cops prick up their ears from ten miles away.

Just when he's about to pick up his phone and yell at the two goons he sent out _five hours ago_ to bring him one guy and be sure they didn't get lost in the _same place they always manage to get themselves lost_ , the double doors of the study are flung open, and before Frank can rip anyone a new one, Vince and Lucy, his two _numbskulls_ of goons, who both always _reek_ of Alpha because apparently they find his idea of using _scent blockers_ to be above them, come through the doorway, dragging a man who appears to be making himself dead weight.

"I see you both managed to do _something_ right," Frank sneers, barely even giving them a glance. "Even if it took you _twice_ as long as it should've."

As usual, Vince immediately starts his kiss-ass routine. "We're real sorry, sir, this guy was just bein' a real hassle-"

" _Out,_ " Frank interrupts him sternly, "Both of you, leave him and get out. And if I find that you've left a _scratch_ on poor Mr. Way before I even saw him, I'll be using your pea-brains as garden mulch tomorrow morning. It is the season for hobbies like that, y'know? I miss my flower beds when it's cold out." A cold, wicked smile draws itself on his face, and he subtly draws his fingers over the leather straps of his hip holster.

He's bluffing, he always is. But it gets his particularly stupid subordinates to leave him alone, and sure enough, Vince and Lucy drop the guy they've brought in by the couch and _bolt_. 

They even shut the door behind them.

Frank grins to himself, slipping out of his chair and approaching the shaking man on the floor, one Gerard Way.

Even standing a little less than a yard away from the poor bastard, Frank _cannot_ get a read on his scent. He doesn't smell like an Alpha or an Omega, and he doesn't even give off the smell that _Betas_ have, that faint spicy sweet smell like a mild mix between the other two classes. But he doesn't smell like he's on blockers either, Frank knows what that kind of no-scent-smell is like- hell, he uses them himself-, he just smells _dirty_ , like whatever his natural scent is has been obscured by the reek of homelessness.

Settling down onto the couch in front of him, Frank grins. "Seems like you've got yourself in some pretty big trouble, haven't you?" He comments absent-mindedly, tracing patterns on his thigh with bored, lazy fingertips. "I mean, you're dealing with _me_ , and I don't usually deal with debt dodgers. Most of the time I just let my men _handle it_ , but you're a special case, aren't you?"

Gerard's eyes go wide behind his mousy colored overgrown bangs, already pale skin going white as a sheet. "I-I'm _so_ sorry, I can't- I can't pay, please don't-"

"I wasn't _finished_." Frank's smile goes tense, sharp as a blade. "I was _going_ to say, sweetheart, that if you want to live, you're gonna have to do a little groveling…." He pauses, lets his words hang for a touch of dramatic effect. Gerard's eyes are positively massive by this point, their vibrant hazel shimmering in the well lit room. "Don't look so upset, if you weren't as cute as you are you'd be a stain on my study floor by now. So _look me in the eyes_ , and tell me what you can do to repay your debt, _dog._ "

He watches Gerard's expression cycle through nearly every emotion known to man in the span of five seconds, before settling on an odd form of puzzled, curious intrigue that borders on confused lust. "I, um…. Anything, sir. If you need a bodyguard, I could do that, or- or house staff, anything really…." Gerard says nervously, wringing his bony hands and barely maintaining eye contact.

"I _see_ …" Frank says with a measured nod. "Well, first of all, you're _filthy_. I don't want filthy staff no matter what they do for me. And second, if you're up to it, I don't think a bodyguard would be a bad thing to have…."

Frantically brushing his bangs out of his eyes, Gerard seems to perk up in an almost childlike way, large eyes unblinking and naive. "Thank you- I-I- you're- thank you for not killing me-"

"Anytime, sweetheart, but what the _hell_ is on your face?" Frank interrupts him when he notices spatters of red and purple, pooled and aging blood below the boy's right eye. 

"Um- I-"

"Be honest, I promise I won't get angry with you."

"One of the people who took me- the girl, I-I think she hit me…."

The whole left side of Frank's face twitches. "I swear to God I told those idiots not to harm a hair on your head…." Rising from the sofa, Frank stalks to the study doors and flings them open. "Lucy, Vince! If your sorry asses are still in this house then _get in here_ before I decide to hunt you down, gut you for sport, and feed your livers to my dog!" 

Like magic, the pair of idiots themselves appear, looking like they ran halfway across the house at Frank's roar. "Yes boss?" Lucy asks, sharply tightening her ponytail at the base. It's an _I fucked up_ fidget of hers, and she does it so often that Frank wonders how she hasn't ripped her ponytail clean out yet.

Motioning to Gerard to stand up and come closer, Frank's face sets in a firm scowl. "Mr. Way here tells me you _hit_ him," He explains with a rocky smile full of barely suppressed rage. "Care to explain why you would've, when I specifically asked you pair of fucking amoebeas _not_ to hurt him?"

"I didn't mean to!" Lucy automatically defends.

Vince jumps in, as always, gesturing wildly in the hope that his arms will support his story instead of his (absent) coherency. "Yeah, the guy's stupid dog got in the way when we were trying to grab him, and Luce elbowed him in the eye tryin' to shove the dog off her!"

Frank steadies his breathing, watches Gerard bite his lip at the mention of a dog, hope subtle but certainly present in his eyes. "I want you to go and get Mr. Way's dog then. I won't be angry with you if you do," He finally decides with a cool smile. "I don't care if it takes you all day, find the dog and I'll be _very_ pleased."

In about two seconds, both his idiot subordinates are practically shoving themselves out the study door to get away from him. 

"Thank you…." Gerard pipes up after a moment of peace and quiet. "That was nice of you, um… sir…." 

"I don't do nice, honey, but I appreciate getting respect from _someone_ ," Frank replies, a little rough. A slight twitch rattles through his body at the compliment, half disgust and half that awful response to praise that's always going to be engraved into his brain no matter how many hormone blockers he doses himself with.

So what if he's a damn Omega though? It doesn't make him weak. Maybe shorter than average, but big damn deal. He's managed so far. He always will, it won't ever be his weakness, but it also won't ever be his crutch to lean on.

Clapping his hands together absently in an attempt to get back to business with a _snap!_ that draws Gerard's full attention, Frank sighs. "Anyways, I was going to tell you where you can get clean, wasn't I?" 

Gerard nods tentatively. "Yes sir…." He supplies, and Frank still can't think what class he is. His demeanor screams traditionally raised Omega, but something about that seems wrong to label him.

He shakes the thought off for later though. "Go down the hall to your left, the third door on the right side of the hall. It's the second master, bath's through the door on the right side of the room," He explains, and Gerard nods his head to show he picked all that up.

He murmurs another quick thanks, and ducks his head to show respect, or maybe submission as he slips out of the room.

Returning to his desk, Frank tugs the heavy curtains apart to let in light, and sinks into his high-backed chair, spinning round to gaze out the window. He listens to the sound of Gerard's shoes hitting the floor as he walks down the hall, the study door left open behind him.

He can already tell he's getting himself into something big, notable at the very least.

His only wonders at this point are _how big,_ and _is he going to regret saving this man_?

Looking out over his garden through the window, looking at the high fence and the rose bushes, looking at the perfectly maintained but currently dead and empty flower beds, looking at the statue of an angel, looking at the fountain, looking at the stone path that winds through the garden, Frank supposes that only time can tell if he's made the right call today.

And right now…

He's going to go out on an overconfident limb and say he's done _exactly_ the right thing.


	2. mutt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello look at me updating one of my multichapter fics it's the miracle of the decade. g is marginally less spineless in this chapter and i adore him.

Gerard has never liked big houses much.

They're too cold, too lonely, they're usually bright and minimalistic. Makes him feel like he's in a fucking hospital.

But something about this house puts him at peace. 

Putting aside the fact that he's a bizarre hybrid of confused by, flustered by, and afraid of the man who spared him- Frank Iero, leader of a local crime syndicate, a man who squeezes the money out of those who borrow from anyone he has his proverbial claws in, and squeezes the _life_ out of those who can't pay up-, the house has a peace to it. It's traditional and warm toned, reminds Gerard of an old Victorian manor, something out of a Gothic novel he would've read as a teenager and loved.

 _Go down the hall to your left, the third door on the right side of the hall, it's the second master, bath's through the door on the right side of the room,_ he repeats in his head as he walks, feeling far too dirty to set foot in such a nice house. 

He watches his decaying sneakers drag carefully over the rug that runs the span of the hall, deep red and perfectly centered. 

When he finds the second master bedroom, he can't help but stare. It's _massive_ , looks like something you'd see on TV, opulent and comforting all at the same time.

It's no surprise that the master bath is the same. The tub alone is _huge_ , more like a hot tub than anything he's ever seen in any bathroom before, and Gerard exhales heavily as he slips into the room, closing the door with a soft _thunk_ behind him.

It takes him a moment to figure out the bath, fiddling with the taps until he gets warm water, and reaching down to push the stopper into the drain.

He looks at himself in the mirror as he undresses. He didn't realize how filthy he was when he was blending in with the grime of alleys, but now that he sees himself in good lighting, in a clean, elegant house, he realizes just how horrible of shape he's in. He's sporting a nasty black eye, and it makes him shiver as he's pulling off his shirt to think of Iero yelling at his henchmen for giving it to him.

When Gerard sinks into the bath, rubbing absently at the skin of his upper arm makes the water around it take on a sort of muddy color. He flinches at the sight, praying he won't stain the bath. Just what you'd want to do in the house of someone who could've killed you, and who _definitely_ has one of the shortest tempers Gerard has ever seen. Mess up their house.

Trying to stay calm, like he thinks his guilt will attract Frank to him, he sinks deeper into the still mostly clear water, scrubbing at his dirty skin. 

He tries to wash his hair, he tries to rinse himself free of any dirt or grease in a rather pathetic attempt to be presentable. He scrubs at his skin with a washcloth doused in foamy soap that smells like oranges and a sharp undertone of mint that makes his eyes water, watches the dirt melt off his skin into the hot bath.

He washes his hair a second time, and he's not quite sure why. He's always hated having to be clean, but now it feels like the best thing in the world, and he just sinks down in the water, rubbing over his soft, clean skin with tired fingertips.

When the bath starts to grow cold, Gerard reluctantly drags himself out, tugging out the stopper as he goes. He's hesitant to take a towel, to stain it with dirt and be punished, but he does, drying off to avoid looking like a drowned rat.

Glancing in the mirror, he really doesn't think he cleans up that well. His hair is still tangled, still too long. He's still too thin and too pale and too tired. He still has a black eye. 

Sighing, he pulls his dirty old clothes back on. He doesn't feel very clean, he feels rather dirty and disappointing, but regardless, he leaves the room fully dressed, retracing his steps back to the study's double doors.

Frank glances up when he enters the room, and he jumps a little at the sharpness of his gaze.

"Jesus Christ, remind me to find you something to wear, those things look like they're about to fucking disintegrate…." Frank scoffs, looking him up and down. Gerard almost seems to want to squirm from the tension of being evaluated, looking like a middle schooler who's been told to present a project they didn't study for. 

Wringing his hands nervously, Gerard swallows the lump in his throat, hardly even able to move under Frank's gaze. _Pinned like a butterfly in a glass case_ , a thought drifting through Frank's head pipes up. "I'm sorry, they're all I have…." Gerard explains.

Frank feels a brief twinge of guilt in the pit of his stomach, feels the twinge almost ripple through his whole body. "Well, we'll have to do something about that, huh?" He suggests. Gerard seems too surprised to say anything, and just sort of nods his head, wide-eyed.

Now that he isn't completely filthy, Frank can actually get a read on his scent. It's sort of spicy, this woodsy, surprisingly masculine scent, twisting around something sweet.

 _Fuck._ The little dog is an Alpha, there's no mistaking a scent like that. It rests heavy once Frank registers it, and so does his disgust.

"And…" He pauses for effect for a brief moment, rising from his chair to assert some attempt at power as he walks towards Gerard's form. "We'll have to do something about the fact that you seem to have forgotten to tell me one _tiny_ thing about you."

Gerard goes pale. Well, paler than he was, practically translucent, really. His eyes widen, and some sadistic, Alpha-hating part of Frank's psyche twists around the word _pretty._

"Do you want to maybe tell me why you don't think it's important knowledge that you're an _Alpha_ , sweetheart?" Frank asks, and Gerard looks on the verge of tears, actual honest-to-God _tears._

"I'm so sorry, I just…." Gerard stammers for a moment, biting his lip, and a pang of guilt ripples through Frank's gut. "I didn't realize you wanted to know…." He hangs his head, eyes fluttering shut.

 _Fuck, if I didn't know any better, I'd think he was an Omega._ "Well, I think if I invite someone into my home for an indefinite period of time like I've so generously done, them keeping such an important thing a secret is unfair, isn't it?" Frank asks, ignoring the guilt in his stomach at the pathetically tragic look on Gerard's poor, bruised face, the way the poor thing's brows furrow and his eyes are too wide, too frightened. It goes against everything Frank has ever associated with Alphas, every visual his brain conjures of sharp smiles, tall, straight posture, anger that feels like taking a lashing when directed at you.

"I'm sorry…." Gerard repeats, shutting his eyes again. His long, spiky lashes fan out against his pale skin, brushing his cheeks just barely, unbidden tears sparkling on his skin.

Frank steps away from him for a moment to clear his head. He loops his desk, walks around the coffee table once, and pauses by one of his bookcases to wring his hands and take a deep breath, before walking back to his desk, then back to stand before Gerard, keep them equals. He's going to handle this calmly. "Now then," He begins, twisting the rings on his fingers, counting the rings, breathing deep to try to calm down. "I'm not going to throw you out for your class, don't think I would for even a _second._ I'll be the first to admit I'm not much of a fan of Alphas, but I think you deserve a chance to repay your debt to me, and trust me, you won't be able to any other way than working for me."

Seeming to want anything but to make eye contact, Gerard stares down at his dirty shoes. "I… thank you, Mr. Iero, sir," He manages softly, and Frank is still wondering if he misread him. All signs physically point to him being an Alpha, but his body language and personality scream- or whisper, rather- Omega, through and through. 

"Don't cozy up just yet," Frank interrupts him before he can open his mouth to make yet another simpering, pathetic round of thanks. "Me giving you a chance isn't the same thing as mercy, no matter how easily you pass off as an Omega. You're lucky I needed a bodyguard, honey, lookin' at you tells me you'd suit that job for a good few reasons." 

He's not bluffing, getting a good look at Gerard shows that he's not all skin and bones and dainty features. The man is tall when he isn't hunched over or cowering, maybe not for an Alpha, but solidly average for one, and while he's no action hero by _any_ means, _sturdy_ would be a good word to describe his physique. Underfed, but from what Frank can see, wiry muscle is what's under his clothes, _something_ at least. He's built rather small, but that resourceful, scrappy type of small that indicates skill and smarts, or at least something more than strength rivaling a pubescent boy. If he's got any real smarts about him, Frank's been thinking an inconspicuous bodyguard could be a handy resource.

Lips curling into a smile, Frank reaches to grab his knife ( _let's see how clever he is_ ), fingers brushing the thin sheath strapped to his thigh, giving Gerard a second to spot it-

Halfway to the sheath, Gerard's bony fingers curl around his wrist, instincts going haywire behind his blandly startled expression, his pupils small, contracted and surrounded by wide rings of hazel and prominent whites. His fingers shake on Frank's wrist, but he clearly knew to expect that from how Frank's hand was going.

"Not bad, sweetheart." Frank tugs his wrist free easily, Gerard's grip loosening when he realizes there was no genuine plan to stab him. "I guess those back alleys teach you a thing or two, yeah?"

After staring at his hand for a moment, Gerard looks at him warily, seemingly surveying what he could do to pull another sneak attack. "What was that…? Was that some kind of test?" He asks, doe eyed naivete traded in for urban paranoia in an instant. 

"You're pretty good, honey... for a mutt," Frank answers, just to see the sweet, startled look of embarrassment flutter over Gerard's features. "I wanted to see if you had half decent instincts, y'know? Can't be a bodyguard without 'em."

Gerard's face almost lights up with shock at his words. "Oh, um… sir…. I don't…. I can't be a bodyguard, I'd be awful at it…." He murmurs, and Frank grins.

"Is that so?" He asks, watching Gerard fumble for words before raising his voice again. "It's good you've got me then, I'll make sure you see that ain't true, got it?"

 _Is that a compliment?_

Gerard stares, long and hard and pondering, to find the insult in Frank's words. "I… thank you," He finally manages to say, his nerves buzzing, humming still.

"Don't need your thanks, hon," Frank drawls back, all the frazzled anger he let out at the realization that he was dealing with an Alpha suddenly gone from his system. "I need a damn decent right hand man, and one who doesn't look the part. You're smart, I can tell by looking at you, and you're pretty enough that no one's gonna suspect a thing."

Eyeing him warily, Gerard's instincts bristle at the word _pretty,_ even though he on the surface really does rather like the word. Even if it is disconcerting coming from Frank's mouth. "So… you're going to train me because you need a bodyguard?" He asks.

"And in return, you get a place to live, food on the table, anything you want, and a debt off your head for as long as you're loyal. Is that not a fair trade to you?" Frank asks, tracing over the straps of his hip holster to draw Gerard's untrusting eyes toward him.

Chewing his already tattered bottom lip, Gerard shakes his head. He extends a hand to Frank, tries to remember how to orchestrate an agreement politely, thoughts from when he tried to be a useful adult for all of barely a year, and he pulls together the steadiest tone he can when looking into the eyes of a man who can be nothing other than, to put it blunt and like something out of a walking cliche, the head of the mob, and agreeing to join his world.

"That's fair."


End file.
